The Build Up
by Ola-May
Summary: Rated M for language, adult situations, Wincest and violence. Takes place after S3:E5 Bedtime Stories. Summary: Dean and Sam have a complicated life. Between hunting and finding a way to break Dean's Crossroads Deal there isn't much time for anything else. As new emotions arise their relationship is strained and the boys will soon discover that nothing worth having comes easy.
1. Creep

**A/N: Hello everyone and welcome to my Supernatural Fanfic. I'm super excited that you've decided to give this a look and I do hope you enjoy it. I want to give a very big thank you to my amazing Beta Exp232, who has some amazing material posted on this site that you should all totally read, and I also want to say that, obviously, I don't own Supernatural. I also don't own any of the songs I will be using throughout the course of this fanfiction. So, without further ado, I present to you: The Build Up.  
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_I want you to notice when I'm not around_

_You're so fucking special_

_I wish I was special_

-Radio Head

The motel was old and shabby just like many of the other places they'd stayed. That didn't really bother either of the Winchester boys, though. In fact, they were happy the hotel had a vacancy at all, and even more pleased that there was a room with two beds. Not that the boys really gave a flying fuck about sharing right about then, considering how fucking exhausted they were from hunting. However, Dean was also aware of the fact that Sammy wasn't exactly the sharing type. With his large frame and long limbs, Sam always hogged the bed on the very rare occasions when the brothers had to share a bed and, quite frankly, Dean liked to be able to sleep at night without someone else's arms and legs all over him.

"I call shower first," Sam said, tossing the room key on the closest bed and setting his laptop down on the dresser as he ran passed. He began shedding his clothes (shoes, jacket, socks) as he headed for the bathroom so Dean wouldn't have time to protest. As he reached his destination and closed the door, he didn't really think much of leaving Dean behind to do all the locking up. He was the oldest after all, and looking after Sam was his job, so he'd be just fine.

"Bitch," Dean yelled as he slammed the front door shut and locked it. He could hear Sam's muffled response of "jerk" before the sound of rushing water followed. Dean shook his head, fighting back a laugh.

The moment he heard the shower running, Dean began a quick check of the room to make sure the door and the window were the only places of entrance. It was more out of habit than the real need to feel secure since most of these dumps only had the two frames anyway. Afterwards, he salted and, as usual, sat down on the bed and waited for his turn in the bathroom.

The silence of the room was unnerving. It was a new place, and Dean couldn't say he was properly adjusted to the new change in their routine. Normally Dean was the first in the shower and once he was clean he'd go out and find a nearby bar. He'd have a few drinks, hit on a few chicks, and by the time he was heading back to their temporary home Sam would be knocked out or doing research.

Of course, this familiar pattern meant that Sam was left with warding the room because, unlike Dean, Sam was the type of person who always needed to do something. Not that the task took a long time, but Sam seemed to appreciate the busy-work. Dean liked it that way as well, since a busy Sam meant a happy Sam, not to mention one less annoying chore for Dean, who was always pleased whenever he could shoulder off a bit of responsibility.

While he tarried, Dean downed a few beers to work himself into a warm buzz. He'd sleep better if he was a little inebriated, and the buzz helped him ignore the pain, helped him forget about things he didn't like to remember. Things like Sammy being stabbed, or Devils Gate being opened, or the deal Dean made with the Crossroads Demon. Hell, even the fact that Dean shouldn't have been alive to have made the deal in the first place. Not to mention, getting a bit sauced always seemed to help pass the time, considering Sammy was such a fucking girl and always showered longer after a hunt, meticulously "cleaning" himself.

When his baby brother finally left the bathroom with a towel around his waist, Sam jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and said, "All yours."

Normally, Dean didn't have to be told twice, however, now that his brother didn't have any clothes obstructing his view, or blood, dirt and leaves all over Sam, Dean saw just how bad his brother's injuries were: lip split and puffy, a knick above his eyebrow, and jaw was a little bruised. Over all, though, his face was fine. It was Sam's torso that bared the bulk of his injuries.

Raw and red, Sam's chest was sporting four diagonal gashes. They looked deep and the wounds had already started swelling. There were bruises everywhere, worsening around Sam's ribcage, and small cuts running along his skin like tiny, red veins.

Bile rose in his throat. Fighting to keep it down, Dean tried not to eyeball the scar on Sammy's back as he turned around and looked through his duffle bag for something. There were a few black and blue areas on Sam's back accompanying his scar, abrasions he got from having been dragged across the ground. The icing on the cake was the slight limp Sam had developed. He was favoring his right leg.

An image of the Wendigo grabbing Sam flashed through Dean's mind. Dean thought back to their past hunts and realized that in most cases, Sam got the short end of the straw.

_No wonder he always took long showers._

"Sammy," Dean's voice was tight. It was strangely amusing how seeing Sam banged up made Dean immediately lose his buzz.

_Fuck, he should have protected him!_

He should have thought faster than Sammy and grabbed that man before he ran out of the protective circle.

_Maybe Sammy shouldn't have been such an idiot and let that guy die_.

No...that was wrong. That was their job; protecting people. Dean had lectured Sam with that simple fact enough for it to have stuck with himself as well. But fuck, that didn't do jack-shit to make Dean feel like he deserved to be even considered a good brother. He was painfully failing at his job. Again.

"Sam, those wounds..." Dean trailed off. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. John had always taught them to suck up their pain, to brush it off as if it didn't exist, but did that count for something as bad as this?

"I'm fine, Dean," came Sam's exasperated reply as he slipped into his boxers. "These really aren't all that deep," Same explained as he began carefully cleaning out the lacerations, grimacing from the sting of the alcohol. "I think the Wendigo was just pissed off, so it scratched me up a bit. I've had worse. Besides, that man is alive, and we found his sister."

That was Sammy, always looking on the bright side.

After a short moment of silence, Dean said, "Still looks like it hurts."

"It does, but it's really no big deal," Sam grunted as he began wrapping gauze around his torso. Dean offered to help but Sam brushed him off. "I'm not a baby, Dean. Besides, you should shower. You stink."

"Oh, like you didn't smell like shit before you got in there."

"Yeah but I don't smell like shit _now_," Sam smirked.

Dean just shook his head, ignoring the pain crawling up his chest at the thought of Sam not wanting-not _needing- _his help. He brushed off the urge to slap Sammy upside his thick skull. Instead, he glared at his brother and pointed in the fatherly fashion of his and said, "never do something that stupid again, Sammy, or I'll hurt you myself," _because I didn't bring you back for you to die before my year is up_.

Dean had already reached the bathroom before he heard Sam sarcastically mumbled, "So much for always protecting me."

Even though Sam said it in a light and joking manner, it still stung. Did Sam think otherwise, despite the casual tone? Was there truth in his words, hinting at a deeper question Sam had trouble finding an answer to? God, Dean hoped not, because the answer was simple, just as it had always been; there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Sammy. Not a damn thing.

"Fuck you, too, bitch," Dean chuckled, forcing away a sense of apprehension with the closing of the bathroom door, barely catching Sam's regular comeback.

"Jerk!"

_I don't care if it hurts_

_I want to have control_

Twenty minutes later, Dean was trying to clear his head more than his body. The eldest Winchester, for now anyways, turned off the water and exited the bathroom. As Dean had suspected, and sort of hoped (another reason why he'd stayed in the bathroom so long), Sam was already asleep. What he hadn't expected, though, was Sammy falling asleep on his bed. He scowled and went over to his brother, giving him a light shake. He really hated to wake Sam, but it came down to one of those unspoken rules they had; Dean always slept closest to the door. Not because he liked it or he wanted to, but because he was the oldest and he had to protect Sam.

"Sammy," he called out as he rummaged through the duffle bag and pulled out a pair of sweats. He slipped into them, hoping Sam would respond to the sound of his voice like he always did, but when Sam didn't stir, Dean shook his brother and called his name a bit louder. "Sammy, wake up. You need to move."

"Uh-uh. 'M too tired to move, De," Sam slurred. It was sort of cute, but Dean didn't have time for cute.

"You've got two choices; get your Sasquatch ass up and move or I'll move you myself," Dean threatened as he double checked the salt lines. They were fine, he knew that, but it was something to do while he waited for Sam to move.

Sam growled and rolled over to glare at Dean; half awake and all angry. "You've got two choices: sleep in the other bed or crawl in beside me. I'm sore and tired as hell, Dean. If you don't recall, I got my 'Sasquatch ass' handed to me by a Wendigo. I'm not moving." Sam rolled back over and pulled the covers up around him even more.

Dean smirked. _So that's how Sammy wants to play? Well fine, two can play this game. _

With a huff of false aggravation, Dean pushed gently on Sam's shoulder. "Scoot over and share, princess."

"Ugh! Really Dean? You can't go get in the other bed?" Dean only chuckled as Sam threw his hands up in exasperation and covered his face in frustration. He'd officially sent Sam into bitch mode, but Dean didn't really care. He only had so much time left to torment his brother, after all, and he wanted to make it count.

"This is my bed, bitch. You know that. Besides, you offered."

"I didn't think you'd take me seriously. Go away."

"No. I'll sleep where I damn well please."

Sam groaned again, but he rolled over and allowed Dean access to the bed. Dean could only smirk as he listened to his brother muttering, 'stupid Dean and his stupid rules. Stupid jerk-face,' and so on and so forth. "I love you too, Sammy."

"Shut up," Sam hissed. Dean complied without question.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. Dean never did know when to give up. Shifting a bit so that his back was to Sam's he slipped his hand in his pants and began stroking himself, thinking about that busty blonde he'd met in a bar earlier in the week. Yeah, she had been hot in a pouty let-me-give-it-to-you-rough sort of way.

The uncomfortable squirming beside Dean let him know that Sam knew exactly what Dean was doing before he asked. Hell, Dean wasn't even sure why Sam asked, but that was Sam after all, so inquisitive.

"What are you doing?" Sam's voice went an octave higher like it did sometimes when he was really confused or offended, but knew the answer to his question. And God, Sam almost sounded like a chick. Dean groaned, squeezing his cock just a little as he continued pumping, twisting at the head and then coming back down to slick the precum along his length.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Thats gross, Dean. What's wrong with you?"

"This is why we have separate beds. You can move."

"No, this is why there is a bathroom, you pervert!"

Dean continued making noise, being none too quiet either, just to fuck with Sam. It was times like these that Dean knew why he would never win the brother-of-the-year award. When he wasn't failing Sam by accident, he was failing him on purpose, doing anything he could just to get a rise out of Sammy. It was childish and, on occasion, inappropriate, but Dean couldn't help himself. And, _God_, did Sammy have to just lie there and complain? The other bed was a few feet away and Sam was closer to it now than he was before Dean woke him up. And shit, Dean was really close to being done. Like seriously, rest easy, done and Sam wasn't moving but he kept complaining, and no, Dean was _not_getting harder at the sound of his brothers voice. Things were about to get really awkward because Dean couldn't stop now.

"Dean," Sam's voice was hard and desperate. A cross between a whine and a groan (maybe a moan) and suddenly the image of that busty blonde was Sam; pouty lips and sultry green eyes and fuck it was doing something really weird to him. Then Sammy was squirming again and it was driving Dean wild. So much so that he could feel the need to release even stronger now. The tension in his muscles, the fire in the pit of his stomach; all the tell-tale signs that told him to increase his speed and the friction, which he did, while conjuring up more images of Sam to get him off. Then, Sam called his name again, in that whiney and girly voice of his, and that was enough to throw Dean over the edge. He came violently.

The temporary high was amazing, like nothing Dean had ever felt by simply jacking off. When he came to, however, he realized that Sam was still in the bed next to him, panting heavily, as if he could throttle Dean if he weren't in so much pain. Suddenly Dean felt disgusting.

Reaching over to the nightstand for a few tissues, he cleaned his hand and tried not to think about what it meant that Sam had been his poster girl. He told himself that it wasn't Sam's voice that had triggered the natural reaction, regardless of the fact that Dean had thought about him in _that_ way. Instead, Dean convinced himself that Sam calling out to him had been horribly, but perfectly, timed with his orgasm which was predestined to happen just when it did, since Dean had been _so close_ anyway. It was bound to happen eventually. After all, being in love with Sam had nothing to do with it. _Sam_had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

Recovering from his orgasm quickly (and now that his hand was clean) Dean reached for Sam, trying to form the words of an apology, but Sam just brushed him off with the jerk of his shoulder, as if he never wanted to be touched by Dean again. Instant guilt seized Dean's throat, making it hard to breathe. It was even worse when, with a hiss, Sam slid painfully slow out of the bed and just as carefully made his way to the other one, curling up on his side and making sure his back was turned to Dean.

_"I hate you,"_ Sam whispered, so softly that Dean almost hadn't heard him, and the words shook Dean down to his core. He couldn't tell if they were said angrily in the heat of the moment, or if they reflected how Sam truly felt about...well..._everything_. Dean was afraid to ask.

_But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo_

_What the hell I'm doing here? I don't belong here._


	2. Run

_**A/N: Hello again. I hope you all enjoyed the previous chapter and I hope you're excited for chapter two because I'm frikken thrilled. I slaved over this. Well, not really but I can say that I did. Once again, credit for the clean presentation of this chapter goes to my amazing Beta Exp232. Check him out. Also, I don't own anything.  
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_I was so wrong, I was so wrong about you_

_It's a natural reaction, but natural's what can't be true_

-Broadcast2000

It had been two days since what Sam was now referring to as 'the time that shall not be named', and it seemed Dean had finally snapped. The morning after the incident, Sam had refused to talk about it, shutting Dean up with one of his own lines, "No chick-flick moments, Dean". Sam knew this behavior was backwards, knew that Dean should be the one ignoring everything, but ever since the crossroads deal, Dean had changed.

Going about his own merry way, Sam packed his belongings and got himself ready to hit the road. He barely registered the way his wounds radiated pain as he slung the laptop case over his shoulder and hoisted his duffle bag on the other. He paid no mind to Dean as he offered to carry Sam's stuff, as if that would make up for the night before.

Before long the boys found themselves in a small town diner. They hadn't talked the entire drive over and the moment they were seated, Sam pulled out his laptop and got to work. He could feel Dean staring at him and, simply by the weight of his gaze, knew that Dean wanted to say something about _that_night.

"Why didn't you move?"

Sam glanced up at Dean and considered telling him that he _had_moved, but he knew what Dean meant. Dean wanted to know why Sam had waited until he'd finished, and Sam didn't have an answer to that.

"Answer me," Dean insisted, teeth clenched as he glared at his brother.

Sam tried his hardest not to look at Dean, avoiding eye contact at all costs. He was busy looking for where their next hunt would be; scouring the internet for supernatural omens or sightings or just anything plain _weird_. He could see Dean in his periphery, though, and he knew that Dean was having a tough time playing the role of the patient one. Dean was trying to be everything he never was for Sam, since this year was it and after that, he'd be gone. Sam would be left with nothing.

Clenching his jaw at the thought, Sam continued to type, looking through various search engines and, over all, trying to ignore Dean as best as he could, while the man sat in front of him and watched him like a hawk.

When their food arrived, Sam was thankful for the distraction because the meal got Dean off his back for a little while. He watched as his brother ate with gusto and found it amazing that nothing could affect Dean's appetite, not even the prospect that Dean had been trying to initiate what would have most likely been a really awkward, and probably one-sided, conversation. Food had always been a source of pleasure for Dean, though, and Sam wished he had a book with him right now because, aside from Dean's eyes, words on a page were the only things he could get lost in.

'_I did not just think that._'

Sam blanched at how horribly _gay _that sounded and he was glad Dean wasn't a mind reader, since Sam definitely would have been punched in the face for that. Appetite utterly absent, Sam tried his hand at faking his hunger. He pushed his food around for a little while and took a few tasteless nibbles before he just gave up and shoved the plate aside; trading it for his laptop.

"What's the matter, Sammy," Dean asked.

Once again Sam refused to answer. Nothing was wrong. If he kept telling himself that, it would be true. Until that happened, though, he would force himself to focus on finding a case.

"C'mon, Sammy, you gotta talk to me."

God, if that wasn't ironic. Normally, it was Sam trying to get Dean to talk about his feelings, trying to coax him into 'chick-flick' moments, so that his older brother didn't feel as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but lately, things had been a little reversed. Dean was always asking Sam how he was or Dean was always trying to provide some sort of brotherly comfort when things went wrong. Sam hated it.

Although, it wasn't the switch that Sam hated. Actually, he had come to understand why Dean had always been so tight-lipped in the past, and had learned how much _easier_it was then talking about the things that worried or scared him. The switch, believe it or not, gave Sam a bit of relief. In fact, he was a little glad to shake off that over-emotional aspect to his personality.

No, what he hated was how vulnerable Dean always seemed now.

Sam knew Dean was trying really hard to make the best of the time he had left and, quite frankly, Sam didn't blame him. But, in any case, he was doing it all wrong. Dean couldn't just 'pull a 180' on his personality some days and expect that being all happy, soul-searchy, and brotherly was going to make his last months inherently better. The world didn't work like that, so it bothered Sam that his brother thought he could just do anything he damn-well pleased and get away with it. Dean had no sense of self-preservation anymore and that scared Sam.

Furthermore, Dean was always pulling that 'it's-my-dying-wish' card, and it was unfair of Dean to dangle that over Sam's head whenever he got the chance since Sam hadn't asked him to sell his soul. Not that Sam was ungrateful; he wasn't. It was just... It was just really hard to see Dean like this; hypocritical and carelessly... carefree.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dean," Sam finally grumbled.

He would not talk about it because, in his mind, that night hadn't happened. He hadn't thought _'God, why can't Dean have a little decency' _when Dean was in the throes of passion, and he certainly hadn't gotten hard at the guttural groans his brother so wantonly exhaled. He didn't have dirty little thoughts about wishing that it was his hand on Dean's dick and he definitely hadn't cum simply at the sound of his brother climaxing. Most importantly, though, he didn't blame his aroused state, or the fact that he came without being touched, like some fucking horny teenager, on the fact that he hadn't had sex in god-knows-how-long. There was _nothing_ to blame it on because he hadn't _felt_anything. Nope. Not a damn thing.

"Alright, I get it. I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? Because I'll say it a million times if you'll stop making that face at me and ignoring me like a prick."

"I'm not ignoring you, Dean. I'm doing work, you know like researching for a hunt, and I think I've found our next case." Sam slid his laptop around and pushed it towards Dean. He didn't say anything about how Dean's half-baked apology hadn't sounded sincere, or how that hurt just as much as if Dean hadn't bothered to apologize at all.

"Rainbow Falls Bridge? This sounds like a course right out of Mario Kart," Dean snorted.

"That's Rainbow Road, Dean," Sam said, correcting Dean, as he always felt the need to do.

Why Dean insisted on turning everything into some sort of joke, Sam would never know. He would never understand why his brother automatically thought of Mario Kart anytime he heard the word 'rainbow'. It wasn't as if Rainbow Road was the only course in the game, though it was probably the most popular, not to mention that he and Dean had never even played the game. There just wasn't any time or money for luxuries like that when they were younger, and now that they were adults, there wasn't any point. Maybe that was why his brother brought it up, it was just one of the many things that symbolized the childhood he'd never had.

Sam thought about asking Dean why he always made that connection, to see if his assumptions were right, but he was too angry at Dean, so he let it drop. Instead he rolled his eyes and then continued to tell his brother about his findings.

"Anyway, look at these articles. There have been a bunch of deaths, suicides specifically, in that area. I think it might be an omen."

"It's New York, Sam; the whole place is probably an omen," Dean joked, "maybe the crazies are just getting crazier."

"No, I think there's something more there. I can feel it. It's a touristy sort of area, Dean. I mean, it's Niagra-Frikken-Falls, and it's considered a part of Canada, too, you know, but that's not the point. The point is, it's a place where people go for vacation, you know, pretty scenery and camping, and people are just throwing themselves off the bridge. Don't you find it weird that a place meant for relaxation has suddenly turned into a death trap?"

"You think it's a demon?"

_You mean one of the ones we set free_?

"I'm not sure," Sam said with a shrug. "Only one way to find out."

_Clearly you'll run_

_Clearly you'll run from me_


	3. Clarity

**A/N: Hello once again, my lovely readers! I apologize for the week long wait but it is what it is. Please don't expect speedy updates from me but trust me, they will come, usually on a Tuesday or Thursday. I'm simply a slow writer and I like things to be very neat and near-perfect when I deliver them to you, hence the reason I have a Beta. By the way, thank you once again to my lovely Beta EXP232 and if you still haven't done so, go check him out. Seriously.**

**Anyway, I hope you're all ready for chapter three because shit gets real. Sort of. It probably doesn't get real, I just wanted to say that xD As always I don't own anything and I hope you enjoy the newest chapter!**

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_Hot dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life_

_If I fear for the selfish pain, it was worth it every time_

_Hold still right before we crash cause we both know how this ends_

_A clock ticks 'till it breaks your glass and I drown in you again_

-Zedd

It was obviously a haunting. Just another familiar case of salt-n'-burn. Apparently, some chick had been killed in the area about four months ago, chopped up and chucked over the bridge. However, only in the past two months had things started to change. People were spontaneously jumping from the bridge, as if possessed, only to wash up on the river bank further downstream in the exact spot where the woman's body parts had been found. There wasn't much of a pattern to the deaths, other than where the bodies were found, the day they jumped, always a Friday, and that the streak of fatalities started two months after the woman had already been dead; the Friday after Devils Gate had been opened.

Now, all that _could_be just a coincidence, but Dean was a hunter and, above all, a Winchester. He didn't believe in coincidences. Dean guessed that the opening of Devil's Gate had just been a trigger for her; had somehow set her spirit off and made it restless enough to start wanting revenge now, disrupting whatever pattern she would have been on had the Gate not been opened. So far there were six jumpers total in the past two months.

So, it went without saying that the moment they got to New York, Sam wanted to have a look at the bridge. Dean didn't know why, because once they found the chicks body and did a salt n' burn everything would be fine, but Sam insisted. He said he had a feeling, which Dean thought he was over, now that Yellow Eyes was dead, and as much as Dean hated his brother's freaky, psychic, mumbo-jumbo he figured he could humor Sam. They agreed that they'd check the bridge out the next day.

In the meantime, Dean and Sam busied themselves with gathering information from the local authorities covering the case, as those whack jobs thought it was a serial killer using the bridge's lore to spook people, questioning the victim's families, as well as going over old records for the woman that had first died, A.K.A, ghost bitch. All of that had been easy enough. No one told them anything really important as far as the victim's family members went, which sucked because they had no idea who would be the ghost's next target. However, there was one thing that was a bit annoying; the ghost bitch, whose real name was Dorthia Locke, had supposedly been cremated after her body had been found, which meant something else was keeping her here. Maybe hair on a brush or blood on the bridge but not a limb because the family had assured FBI Agent Russo, A.K.A Dean, that all the body pieces had been found and taken care of, and Dean didn't like that.

He didn't like it because not knowing what kept the girl here only complicated things. For one, the bridge was fucking huge so finding blood spots would be close to impossible, and two, it meant that Sammy had been right in saying they needed to check out that bridge and Dean just could not admit to Sam that he had been right, not out loud anyway. Sam would probably hang it over his head for a while, and that would just be annoying. So, Dean settled for not saying anything and just keeping his word about visiting the bridge tomorrow, and decided that, until then, he'd keep his eyes peeled for any supernatural activity.

For now, however, the boys sat in their motel room and neither of them was saying anything. The TV was on, displaying one of those stupid infomercials about some sort of revolutionary blender, adding more background noise along with Sammy's tapping away at his laptop, probably digging up more info on the case. Dean, on the other hand, wasn't doing anything productive. In fact, he was relaxing on the bed, staring at his brother over some nature magazine and trying not to be obvious about it.

He wondered about Sam's Wendigo wounds and how they were coming along. Sam seemed to be walking better but that could be sheer Winchester bravado and willpower to not look like a pansy ass. Of course, this was Sam, he would always be a pansy ass, so maybe the fact that he wasn't wincing any time his own arm brushed against his torso meant that he was doing ok. Dean didn't bother asking, though, since Sam probably wouldn't tell him anyway. He was still upset about Dean jacking off in bed next to him a few nights ago, so Dean didn't doubt that Sam would just snap at him if he asked how Sam was doing. His brother had come to hate that question but Dean saw it as karma.

"Can you not do that," Sam hissed, never once taking his eyes off of the computer screen.

"What, Sammy? I'm just reading," Dean replied, flipping the page in his magazine nonchalantly. It really amazed him that Sam could stay in bitch mode even after so many days. It was like his patience had turned into downright stubbornness. Part of Dean, surprisingly a very small part, was mad at Sam for still being angry but another part of him understood why Sam was upset and wanted nothing more than to fix it. He just didn't know how to do it if Sam wasn't willing to cut him a break.

"No, you're staring at me and it's seriously bothering me."

"No one's staring at you, princess. Contrary to popular belief, you aren't the center of the universe."

"Oh, so you just gave up your soul because it seemed like a good idea at the time?" The laptop was shut with such a precise and controlled movement, as if Sam was afraid of his own strength. He then glared at his brother and Dean met the gaze head on.

He did not want to have this discussion again. They'd had it once after that Jake kid, the true culprit behind the opening of the Devil's Gate, had told Sam he should definitely be dead- "_I cut clean through your spinal cord, man," he'd said and even though he was clearly surprised by Sam's resurrection and clearly outnumbered, he didn't look the least bit fearful. "You can't be alive," and he was right, Sam shouldn't be alive but Dean didn't want Sam to know that yet_- and Dean had thought he'd made his reasons clear then: he couldn't live without Sam. He wouldn't even entertain the thought. Not even for a second. There was no point.

He knew it was selfish and hypocritical, but that didn't make a shred of difference to him, though, because he didn't want a world without Sam. It'd be too dark, too painful, too raw and putrid and after all the other sacrifices Dean had made in his life he felt like he was entitled to this one because it would make him happy, if only for a year.

"I told you why already, Sammy. I really hate repeating myself."

"Well, humor me, Dean, because I still don't get it. If I'm not the center of at least your universe then why?"

"Because...fuck, Sam, you are! Everything I have ever done has revolved around you! After mom died my only job was to protect you. 'Protect, Sammy. Hold the fort.' That's all dad ever said to me until he was ready to start letting me hunt and even after that he said it so often it became engraved in my skin. Then, when you left for Stanford, I didn't fight you. In fact, it was me who vouched for you and convinced dad to let you go because you don't deserve this life, you've always deserved something better. Even now, you still do, but this is what we've got and I'd be a liar if I said I wouldn't miss you like hell if you were gone. Shit, it took everything I had not to drag you back to me when you did leave. Forcing myself to stay quietly in the shadows, checking in on you when I was in the area just to make sure you were ok because, aside from hunting, thats _all_I know how to do."

Dean paused, trying to read his brother's reaction. Nothing was forthcoming, though. Sam was just staring at him, as if Dean were some sort of stranger. A brief moment of silence passed, and when Sam still refused to speak, Dean continued on.

"So what, I sold my soul for you? If you remember, I shouldn't even be here. Saving you, preserving what I've worked so hard all my life to protect; I don't think that's anything you can blame me for. I think I've given up enough, Sam, and this one last thing won't hurt me. Makes me happy, actually, because I did it for you. And it's selfish, I know, but I'm entitled to be selfish. Hell, I'd go so far as to say I was entitled to you too, because you're all I've got now. You're all I've ever had, and I'll be damned if I'm going to just sit by and let you piss away the little time we have left over something so stupid."

"Stupid, Dean? You think it's stupid?" Sam's tone was shocked, incredulous, and a whole lot of other things that Dean didn't want to name.

"No, I _know_it's stupid. You've got your head so far up your own ass that you can't see what's right fucking in front of you! I shouldn't have to say how I feel about you because...Because you already know it, Sam."

As soon as the words left Dean's mouth, he knew he was going to regret them. Sam's expression shifted from unnaturally angry to something softer. Hurt, maybe, or disappointment. Dean was also sure there was a little bit of confusion mixed in those familiar green eyes, as shaky and uncertain as the tongue that darted past Sam's lips to wet them nervously. Then, Sam's gaze drifted to the floor, as if he couldn't force himself to even look in Dean's direction, and when he spoke it was a dramatic change from the yelling just a moment ago.

"Maybe you do." Sam's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper and suddenly he seemed so small. Small enough for Dean to want to wrap him up into his arms and tell him that everything would be ok, but he couldn't.

He couldn't tell Sam he loved him, not without expressing several years worth of pent up adoration and fear. That wasn't a risk he wanted to take since those words would be clouded with something else. He wasn't sure when it happened, but he figured that selling his soul had made it concrete, had turned his brotherly love for Sam into something unforgivable, but even then he hadn't quite realized the hole he was digging for himself. No, the true realization hadn't come until _that_night, when the buxom blonde had turned into green eyed Sammy.

As much as it pained Dean, he knew that saying those words out loud would make his emotions a reality, and as much as he wanted to say them to Sam, as badly as he wanted to fix the broken pieces of their quickly crumbling relationship, he couldn't do it. He wasn't ready, and even if he was, he knew Sam was _definitely _not ready. Sam would never be ready. It just wasn't _normal_.

When Sam sighed, running his hands over his face and through his hair in exasperation, Dean felt something shift within him. An inexplicable sadness crept through his veins as he watched his brother slip on his shoes and shrug on his coat. Dean didn't make any moves to stop him.

"I'm going out," Sam said tersely,

Dean noticed how, even now, Sam still couldn't look Dean in the eyes. As he left, he was careful not to slam the door, the same way he'd been careful not to slam his laptop shut, but Dean was certain that he wanted to. In fact, he probably would have if Dean had tried to get up to stop him from leaving, but Dean knew better than that. It was best to let Sam cool off before confronting him again.

Besides, the fact that he was suddenly alone would give him time to really think over some of the things he'd said to Sam. He needed to remind himself of the line he was crossing here, needed to think about what he was doing to Sam, because he had always vowed to make sure that nothing and no one was hurting Sam, but what could he do when he was the one causing the pain? How could he save Sam if he was both the tormentor and the guardian? And even more importantly, who would protect Sammy when Dean no longer could?

As he stared at the motel door, Dean was reminded of when Sam left for Stanford. He tried to tell himself that Sam would come back, if not for him then for the case, but he found that hard to believe. Unlike Stanford, this was probably it because now there was nothing keeping Sam here; no Dad, no yellow-eyed demon, nothing.

Sam's departure wasn't even the worst part about the situation. What really killed Dean was the thought that his last moments with Sam could be so fucked up and that he was so much of a coward that he couldn't even say three simple words to Sam without feeling like a fraud. Now his brother would never know even a fraction of what Dean felt for him, and that was by far the worst. Sam would never need Dean as much as he needed Sam, and it pained Dean to love Sam so much and not be able to tell him.

_Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need_

_Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why_

_If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?_

_If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?_


	4. Jumper

**A/N: Heyo everyone, its May back with another update-FINALLY! I know some of you probably gave up hope and I apologize. I'm literally months late but you know, life slapped me in the face and I got really busy with Uni and I just sort of lost my inspiration. Not to mention this is the last chapter my beta EXP232 edited for me and he was only able to do half. I didn't want to upload without the whole chapter looking nice and proper but I figured I waited far long enough to update and so I edited the rest myself, so if the first half-ish of this chapter looks awesome thank EXP232 and if the rest is just mediocre well, it's all me. That being said I am need of a new beta. It's not necessary, mind you, but if anyone is interested drop me a message and we'll talk. Oh, and the last thing I want to address: if the format looks a little off this time its because I'm using a totally different laptop and sadly this one does not have Microsoft Word so I'm working with what I got. I feel like I've gone on too long in this note now, though, so, onward with the chapter and please enjoy.**

**As always I own nothing [insert other disclaimer talk here].**

* * *

_I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend_

_You could cut ties with all the lies that you've been living in_

-Third Eye Blind

"Maybe you do."

Sam doesn't realize he's spoken the words out loud until he peeks through his lashes and catches a glimpse of Dean's face. His eyes are comically wide and he's as pale as a ghost; disbelieving and shocked-as if Sam just punched him-and his mouth opens and closes a few times like he wants to say something in response to Sam but isn't sure how to phrase it. Despite Dean's hesitance, Sam thinks his words are a valid statement, because after all Dean has said so far, three simple words won't kill him. It's not like Dean says them often, or really at all, not those words specifically, because he's generally dancing around the subject. Up until Dean made that deal it never mattered that he wouldn't say the words, though, because Sam always just _knew_. Now its like he _needs_ to hear it because when Dean's gone no one will be there to say it the way Dean does and no one will mean it as much.

Still, although Sam didn't mean to say the words out loud he almost doesn't mind now because he thinks back over what Dean has just admitted and he understands that maybe his feelings aren't so one sided. Of course, it's no surprise that Dean cares about Sam enough to gamble away his soul because Dean has always been headstrong in his loyalty, but the way Dean has spoken, the depth to his words, almost makes Sam think that Dean feels the same way Sam feels about him. A warm and dangerous feeling bubbles in the pit of Sam's stomach and for a moment he allows himself to be hopeful. He hopes beyond hope that Dean will utter the words he so desperately needs to hear and that he'll mean them the way Sam wants him to, even though its not normal.

When Dean doesn't say anything, however, Sam carefully peeks at Dean again and he notices that Dean's expression has changed. His eyes are narrow and he looks as if he is thinking hard about something. He's stopped flapping his mouth like a fish out of water and now his lips form a thin line and Sam knows this is the end of the conversation. Whatever it is that Dean wanted to say, whatever he had to think twice about, goes unspoken and Sam has the fleeting thought that he likes it better when Dean yells rather than this silent stoicism. He doesn't like this Dean, quiet and calculating, because it makes Sam squirm in his skin now that Dean isn't an easy book to read. That fuzzy feeling of hope he felt is easily shattered and Sam starts to think that maybe the poetry in Dean's admission is actually something to be wary of.

For the first time in his life Sam is afraid of Dean.

He's scared of the fact that Dean is obviously masking his true reaction to Sam's words, trying to protect Sam yet again from some unknown danger. He's afraid of how Dean will look at him from now on. He's terrified of what Dean will think of him and how his whispered admission will change their relationship because there's no doubt that it will. Whether for better or worse Sam doesn't know but he's got his money on worse. Although, Sam isn't too sure their relationship can get much more strained than it currently is without snapping completely.

Before Sam really registers what he's doing his shoes and coat are already on. Then he's talking and the words are a stiff, staccato symphony of uncertainty, "I'm going out." In that moment, standing in the threshold of the motel, Sam wonders what he's more afraid of: loving Dean the way he does or not being able to save him from his deal. At the rate things are going Sam will lose Dean either way. He's careful not to slam the door on his way out.

_And if you do not want to see me again_

_I would understand_

Walking away from Dean makes Sam think of Stanford. It makes him think of the last fight he had with his dad and the look on Dean's face as he leaves; a look of utter defeat and acceptance, as if Dean always knew Sam would just leave him. It makes him think of just how hard he pushed himself to be normal and to fit in. He reminisces about all the time he spent studying pre-law and the late nights with Jess, which turns into thoughts about fire and pain. Seeing her death before it happened and not doing anything to prevent it. Knowing that his mother must have looked the same: wide eyed, split open and engulfed in flames. Oh yeah, and the demons blood coursing through his system, because heaven forbid he forget that.

He's on a downward spiral. He keeps getting flashes of Dean's narrowed eyes and his thin lips and it breaks his heart. He knows Dean won't ever feel the same. All Dean feels is a brotherly love to protect Sam and the absolute need to uphold his promise to their father because Dean is a man of his word, always has been. It hurts like hell to know that the only thing keeping Dean by his side now, the only reason why he traded his soul for Sam's, is because he felt obligated, because it's his _job_.

Sam wishes he could take back his words. He wishes he had the strength to have done Jake in when he had the chance so that Dean wouldn't have had to give up something so precious for someone he has only a sense of obligation to. Furthermore, he wishes that he didn't wish any of those things because it's not him.

Even though he thinks these things in passing and in anger, because Sam realizes he's hurt and pissed off, Sam doesn't really wish for any of it to be true. Well, maybe the part about Dean's soul because, lets face it, that's serious business, but he doesn't really want to have killed Jake in order to stop that from happening. He yearns for another way.

Not like it matters now because in the end he did kill Jake. Shot him seven times, to be exact, and that was definitely overkill, but he desires a reality in which he didn't kill Jake because the look Dean gave him afterwards was just...Sam shakes his head and tries to dispel the image. At the time he hadn't cared. He had been so pissed off, scared, and confused that he was working more on autopilot than anything, but now, looking back on it, he knows how cold he was. He can still hear Jake gasping for breath-"_Please...N-No..."_-and he can still feel the splashes of blood on his cheek, hot and disgusting.

Sam rubs at his face, attempting to scrub away the ghosts of his most immediate past, and when he's finished he takes a moment to survey his surroundings. He's at the Rainbow Bridge, just a few feet away from the toll booth. He watches as people pay the fee and walk carelessly onto the bridge. Sam even catches a glimpse of a few night time cyclists. Sam joins the herd and in a matter of minutes he's walking along the bridge and enjoying the sights.

Its beautiful and breathtaking, romantic even, and there's no doubt in his mind that it would look even more spectacular in the daylight. He wants Dean to be here to see this but just as the thought crosses his mind the moment is ruined and suddenly the bridge isn't beautiful anymore. It's a dark highway to the unknown and Sam wonders how anyone could have gotten away with dumping a body over the bridge here unseen. There are not a whole lot of people out at night but there are enough that someone would have noticed something. Then again it is dark and despite the street lights lining the bridge at precise intervals there are a few areas shrouded in complete darkness, such as the area he's found himself in, gripping the handrail as he leans forward a bit to look down at the sloshing water below.

Given what Sam knows about the case, which is pretty much everything the police know, he can piece together how it was accomplished. There had to be at least two men. The police reports say that when Dorthia's body was finally found it was chopped up and separated into two bags. This means the men were posing as cyclist or pedestrians wearing backpacks, Sam's seen a few backpacks already, when they crossed the bridge, fee and all. When they reached a spot of relative darkness they dumped the body just as the fireworks began, using the tradition of the Friday night show as a cover. No one would have been paying them any attention. Afterwards, they probably stuck around to watch the show to have an alibi and then went on their way when it was all over. No one is ever taken in for the murder and the entire case goes unsolved.

That sort of brutal treatment is enough to leave behind a spirit. Worse, the fact that the truth about her death never sees the light of day probably irritated Dorthia even more, causing her to lash out. However, all the deaths that have occurred in the past two months make no sense. Spirits are usually on some sort of pattern or cycle and unlike Dean, Sam doesn't think that the Devil's Gate opening triggered the spirit of Dorthia to become restless, he thinks there's something more here. Probably a demon but they'll have to scour the area for sulfur and it won't be easy. Too many hands brushing along the rails to erase any possible trail and if there was ever a smell its long gone.

With a sigh he runs his hands through his hair, a nervous tick, and leans against the railing. He's still looking down into the water and he lets himself space out, tries not to think about anything significant. It's hard because Dean keeps coming to mind and he keeps playing their fight over and over and he can't imagine that Dean will ever want to talk to him again. Then he focuses on the drop from the bridge to the water for a little while instead, shifting his attention so he won't feel so choked up anymore and it helps. Anyone who jumps would be dead on impact but looking at the rapid water is nice and listening to the rush of the fall is soothing. It would be so easy to let go, to lean forward and-

"Are you going to jump?"

Startled, Sam whips around and stares wide eyed at the female who seems to have appeared out of nowhere. As Sam lets his gaze trail up her body and past her voluptuous curves he thinks that she is exactly Dean's type. When he gets to her face, though, he recognizes who she is. He saw several pictures of her in old newspaper articles and once again when he and Dean went to visit her family.

"Dorthia Locke," Sam manages, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman smiles, something painful and melancholy, and nods. Her eyes dart back to the bridge rail, then to Sam, and a look of concern possesses her features. She reaches out and takes one of Sam's large hands with her own, cradling it in her cold grasp as if it's something precious. "Please, please don't. I can't take anymore."

Sam's brows knit in confusion. She isn't how he thought she would be. Where he expected anger and vengeance he gets kindness and concern. "I'm not going to jump," he tells her after eyeballing her cautiously and slipping his hand free. Maybe this is all a ploy.

"Thank goodness," she breathes out in relief and then she moves to stand by Sam, crossing her arms over the metal barricade and looking downwards. "I'm not what you think I am," she starts and holds her hand up before Sam can get a chance to interrupt her. "I know what you are Samuel Winchester and I want you to know that I'm not what you think I am."

"What do you mean? What do you know about me?"

"I know that you like salad and you studied pre-law. I know that you once found a cursed rabbit's foot and lost a shoe because of it. I know that you've hurt people and been hurt by them. I know that you're a hunter. I know that you used to be psychic-I still think you are-and I know that you think I killed all those people."

"Did you?"

"No, I didn't. Do I look like an angry spirit to you?"

"Not exactly, but looks can be deceiving. How do you know all that stuff about me without me having to tell you? I mean, it makes my job easier because I don't have to explain the situation but I'm curious," _and freaked out. _Sam doesn't understand how she could know these things but he keeps a calm face despite the fact that his blood is now running cold.

"I'm a psychic too. I can touch people and know things about them."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Yellow Eyes?"

"Yeah."

"Why weren't you there when..." Sam trails off, trying to find the right words. Not that he wants this girl to have been there, _god no,_ because it had been hell, but if she was like him then he didn't understand why she didn't pull through the way the others did.

"Azazel made the mistake of touching me once. I became aware of his intentions before he wanted me to fully know them and I did everything in my power to keep him away from me, to resist him. Then those two men happened,"-Sam wanted to give himself a pat on the back for being right in his assumption that there had been two killers-"and I knew I should let myself go before I hurt someone. Only...I couldn't. Even though I didn't want to, I hung on. I-I fought them, tried to stay alive, and this was the result. Now I'm stuck here."

Cue the waterworks.

Sam wants to comfort Dorthia, he really does, but he still doesn't quite trust her. Her story makes sense and it might all be true but that doesn't mean she isn't an angry spirit. She's probably just trying to get on Sam's good side so she can kill him too and then keep on killing innocent people. Still, she does seem genuinely upset and it sort of tugs at his heart to be so cold. He feels as if he's becoming something else entirely, has been since Dean had brought him back, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

"Look, don't cry. I believe you, okay? So don't, don't do that," his voice is soft and he has a hand on her shoulder before he can really think it over. When Dorthia looks up at him, all sniffles and jaded hope, he gives her a sympathetic smile. "Just tell me what you know about the deaths so I can stop this. If you aren't causing it, what is?"

"I'm not sure what it is but I know there is something else besides me on this bridge and it has the power to control people, to make them jump. I don't know how it's doing it. It's like this dark presence looming around and controlling people and right after a jump it leaves behind this-this smell. Like-"

"Sulfur," Sam dropped his hand from her shoulder and frowned.

"Yeah, I-I guess, but it never lasts long. There's too much going on on the bridge for the smell to stay more than a few seconds."

"Great, then I know what we're hunting. It's a demon. They always leave behind a trail of sulfur and they love possessing people. Tracking it down might be a problem but if it comes back here to make a jump every Friday then catching it should be easy. It's a matter of waiting it out and being here to stop it before it happens."

Dorthia nods as Sam steps away from her and rests against the railing. She can tell there is some weight other than the current hunt on his shoulders and as she watches his shoulders rise and fall with each breath she wonders just what it is. Sam sighs and she smells it then, eyes growing wide with realization.

"Sam." She whispers his name because she's unsure as to whether or not the demon can hear them if its not inside someone. Then she reaches out and grabs Sam's shoulder because even though she's already dead she still doesn't feel safe and touching him gives her a sense of being grounded, like she won't have to watch someone die again as long as he's near her.

When Sam's hand covers her own she leans in closer and mumbles, "I think it's here," and that's the precise moment when she registers just how tight Sam's grip is.

"Sam?" The level of panic rises in her voice as the youngest Winchester turns to face her, eyes dark and unrecognizable.

"Oh yeah, I'm here."

_Everyone's got to face down the demons,_

_Maybe today we can put the past away_


End file.
